


Prospect

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AkaMido - Freeform, Angst, Idk what this is just take it, M/M, MidoAka - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which both Akashi and Midorima have problems with emotions and how to properly express them.<br/>-<br/>EDIT: THIS IS SO GROSS AND OLD??? IM SORRY 4 ANY ERRORS LOL</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prospect

If he were being honest with himself, he'd describe Akashi as what he was; blunt, crude, and rather arrogant. But he's not being honest with himself at all, in fact he's lying to himself in every way humanely possible. Maybe it's his glasses. Perhaps they're fogging his perception. If that were true, then every time they'd been carelessly tossed to the floor in the dizziness of rough, uncoordinated passion, the truth would've come forth. He would've stopped. But he hadn't. His feelings had remained undeniably the same, and they refused to be ignored. He doesn't know what'd particularly appealing about Akashi, nor does he desire to know why it simply _had_ to be him in the first place. He often wonders what he's done to deserve being in a relationship with he likes of Akashi Seijūrō, but when he _really, truly_ thinks, he realizes it's not so bad after all.

Perhaps it's the faded tint of red in his hair, or the way he always asks for help every other weekend so he can bleach the absolute _shit_ out of his hair _again_. Midorima swears Akashi's going to go bald long before he's thirty, and that's one thing he can't say he's happy about. Somehow, he's also been convinced to dye his hair this earthy green that's _ridiculously_ unappealing. Akashi insists it's a good color on him, but Midorima still has trouble believing it. 

Perhaps it's the contrast in his eyes; the difference between the crimson of the right and the goldenrod of the left is captivating all on its own. It'd be alluring and intriguing even without the romantic attraction between the two. Every so often Akashi will ask Midorima what he's staring at. Sometimes Midorima will respond, and sometimes he won't. It depends heavily upon his mood, but most of the time, he simply shakes his head and goes about his business. 

Perhaps it's the way Akashi manages to be gentle and unforgiving at the same time; it puzzles Midorima to no end how it's even possible to maintain a standoffish impression when you're secretly a sappy gay man who enjoys old movies and making mixtapes for your boyfriend. Even around Midorima, he was awkward as hell, and it had always intrigued him to no end how oblivious Akashi could be to the concept of something such as love. Then again, Midorima wasn't so adept at coming to terms with his feelings, either. 

Akashi is better with actions than he is with words, at least as far as putting words into speech goes. Midorima hasn't read many of Akashi's compositions, but that doesn't mean he isn't interested. Akashi is unpleasantly secretive, and you'd never guess he was a writer, behind the intimidating façade composed of basketball and his nature in general. You'd never guess it were a façade to begin with. If Midorima had to put it simply, he'd say that Akashi was a man of many characteristics, many of which drastically clashed with each other when thrown out of context. 

The sun set long ago, and neither of them know what time it is, neither of them care, really. Midorima's fingers burn faintly from the bleach, but it isn't as bad as it normally is. He _tried_ wearing the gloves, but not only do they make his hands all sweaty, they fuck up his nails to no end. The bleach does, too, but he doesn't mind, because it's Akashi. 

"Maybe I should do green," he smiles, ruffling Akashi's still wet hair. 

A hint of a smile pulls at the corner of Akashi's lips. "I'd look awful in green. You wear it better," he sighs, leaning onto the wall of the bathroom. "You look cute in green." 

"Cute? That's funny," Midorima scoffs. 

"I'm serious, you douchebag," Akashi runs his fingers through his hair. 

Midorima sits down on the edge of the tub next to Akashi. "You're so dumb, I love it." 

Akashi frowns and pushes Midorima gently on the shoulder. "I'll have you know, I'm quite intelligent." 

"It's an expression, dumbass," Midorima rolls his eyes so far back he thinks they'll roll out of his skull. 

"Are you gonna dye my hair red, or what?"

Midorima stands up and opens the cabinet, which mostly contains items the purpose and possible uses of which were not related to the bathroom in any way, shape, or form. At least as not as far as he's aware of. He fumbles for the red hair dye, but pauses.

"How does pink sound?" 

"Pink?" Akashi's face twists into a peculiar mixture of confusion and curiosity, both of which are equally intriguing to Midorima. 

"More of a fuschia, really," Midorima pulls out the bottle from the cabinet. 

"That shit had better not dye my hair cotton candy colors, because so help me god—" 

"It won't, I promise." 

Neither of them say anything else on the subject while Midorima works the dye into Akashi's pale hair. The dye does not, in fact, turn Akashi's hair a cotton candy pink. The color sets in better than either of them expect. The final result is truly something Midorima was going to have to get used to; the vibrant fuschia turns out darker than the bottle makes it out to be, not that Midorima really cares. Midorima ruffles Akashi's hair. 

"You look adorable," he smiles, albeit faintly.

Akashi scowls and stands up. Midorima still towers above him, even though he swears they had been the same height only a year ago. "Shut the fuck up," he spits, "I can still kick you off of the team." 

"Who the _hell_ kicks their shooting guard off of the team?" 

"I will, if you don't watch it." 

Midorima wonders why they're even dating in the first place, they're not even _remotely_ compatible; especially not from Akashi's standpoint. He doesn't particularly enjoy physical contact in the slightest—well, he does, but he has to be in _just_ the right mood for it, and such moods aren't frequent. When he's not scaring the shit out of people or reading, Akashi gets clingy and sentimental, and it's ridiculously strange for he and Midorima both. It's less awkward when Akashi shuts him out, as bizarre and contradictory as it sounds. It's better when they're both being themselves, when they can predict eachother's actions and feelings. Despite the fact that they're lovers, the façades they have established and reserved for the outside world often stay up, even while they're alone together for extended periods of time. In more ways than one, it's emotionally straining, though neither of them will ever admit it.

It's only when they're both teetering on the edge of ecstasy and release that all of this is forgotten; only when both of them are truly desperate do they admit that they can't take the distance anymore. It's not a healthy way to be, Midorima knows, sometimes it's almost too much for him. He hasn't cracked yet, and he doesn't plan to at all, at least not in the near future. He's promised himself that much, at least. 

Sometimes Akashi will let him in. It's rare, and sometimes unthinkable, but _sometimes_ , Akashi Seijūrō will tell Midorima _everything_ on his mind. He'll talk to him about everything from how disgusting and unbearable the school lunches can be, at times, to how much Midorima's glasses frame his face just right. Every Friday, Akashi will tell him about his week at school, but only after they've both gone to practice, fucked, and showered, in that order. Among all this, however, he's never told Midorima he loves him. He's never implied it, and Midorima doesn't expect him to. They've fallen into this passive, accepting, way of life that neither of them question, and if they do, neither of them say so. 

Today is a Saturday. It's not in the routine. They don't break routine. Not now, not ever. The way Akashi stares into his eyes is not a part of the routine. The way Akashi reaches up and holds his chin between his thumb and index finger is _not_ a part of the routine. The way Akashi drags out the moment is definitely not a part of the routine. Everything about this screams _no_ , but Midorima's mind screams _yes_. This isn't what the horoscope readings this morning had told him. This is different from anything they'd ever done before. 

"It's Saturday," Midorima says, suddenly, and it catches Akashi off guard. 

"So?" And with that, neither of them really care anymore. Midorima yanks Akashi forward with surprising force and presses his lips to Akashi's, and the kiss isn't gentle, nor is it particularly rough. They're never quite gentle with each other, and they're never rough, both of them are afraid to cross the line that's too involved, too sentimental, or too ' _romantic_ '. 

_Nothing about this is right_ , Midorima thinks. His thoughts scatter as Akashi yanks his own shirt over his head and throws it onto the bathroom floor. His pale skin almost glows in the faint moonlight that seeps through the window. Midorima wonders when the lights went off. He wonders how he hadn't noticed. His thoughts disperse quickly enough, however, when Akashi shoves him out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. 

It's somewhat laughable, given his superiority complex, to think that Akashi bottoms. Which, he does, it's simply the fact that he's significantly smaller in stature than Midorima, and there's something appealing to him about being filled completely, though it's one more thing he'd never admit. 

"Do you want to do this?" Midorima breathes, and it's barely a whisper.

"Do you think I'd have taken off my shirt if I didn't want to do this?" Akashi scowls and places his hands flat on the bed on either side of Midorima. 

"You take off your shirt all the time."

"I don't take it off unless there's a reason." 

"It's Saturday," Midorima says, again. 

"I know it's Saturday. I know Saturday isn't our day," Akashi says, "but today, I want it to be." Akashi leans down and presses a kiss to Midorima's forehead. 

They don't fuck that night. They do something else that Midorima can't classify as a quick fuck. He doesn't know exactly _what_ to call it, but it's definetly something more. There's more. He doesn't know how hard he'll have to work in order to glimpse these other sides of Akashi, but he's willing to try. This night brings some hope. 

Akashi stays through Sunday, this time. He runs out of clothing, but for once, he doesn't mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse any errors I wrote most of this at like 3am and the rest was written in Spanish class 
> 
> Ssh


End file.
